


Sherlock, Introspective

by crazyjane



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:50:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1544864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyjane/pseuds/crazyjane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>High-functioning sociopath. Man without feelings. Man with no regard for anyone, or anything, but his own purposes.</i> </p>
<p>Inside Sherlock's head, reflecting on the people in his life. Set after the events of <i>A Study in Pink</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock, Introspective

High functioning sociopath.

He wears it like a badge. _Be warned, don't come near, not safe for you_. It's enough to keep them at arm's length, and they never turn their backs. He knows that Anderson and his inept minions all watch him surreptitiously when he moves about a crime scene. They think he doesn't see how their pupils dilate almost to black, the instinctive response of prey in the presence of a predator. How their nostrils flare and they rise to the balls of their feet, poised for flight.

It's interesting to catalogue how different people try to cover up that fear. LeStrade cultivates a state of irritated preoccupation with the current case, and treats him like a somewhat temperamental tool that might turn in the hand if not carefully watched. Donovan's casual insults fail to draw attention from the way the pulse jumps in her neck when he moves near her. And then there are those like poor Molly with her on-again, off-again lipstick and her eagerness to please - frightened, but fascinated like a rabbit in front of a snake.

They all read the badge, and believe it.

Keeping everyone off-balance serves his purposes - the police get out of his way, and suspects are too busy worrying about what he might do to try concealing their thoughts. Not that it would work even if they did, but it takes up less of his time if he doesn't have to sort through and discard the deceptions. He subjects everyone to the same abrasive superiority and can work without obstruction. 

When he's honest with himself, he admits he likes it - at least a little. None of them could even hope to approach him, not on his level. He took them apart within seconds of meeting them, weighed them up and found them wanting. He learned not to be disappointed by that a long time ago, and so now there's only a grim satisfaction in how easily he keeps them away.

He thought the same thing when John walked into the medical school lab, treated him like any new person come into his life. In a moment all the telltale traces of character were catalogued - the nearly-imperceptible hand tremor, the ridiculous limp, the ramrod straight posture, and a sense of watchfulness that would have been surprising in anyone else. What surprised him was the way John's eyes caught and held his - as though the other man was saying, _I know what you're doing, and I'm letting you do it_. The sense of novelty was heady enough to make him decide, there and then, to offer the spare bedroom of his flat. To study him.

Having John in close proximity has not diminished his fascination. The man is a contradiction, apparently unassuming, unexceptional, boring; until their eyes meet, and there's that gaze again. As though when he looks at Sherlock, John sees him clearly and completely. Sees something dark, something he wants, and chooses not to turn away.

It's impossible, of course. But it's only one of the things that trouble him about John, and himself, and where they are heading.

There's the tone John uses when he comments on a piece of deduction; where another's voice would hold a telltale tremor of fear, or overcompensate with gushy sycophancy, John's is flat. Not insincere, not disinterested - purely matter-of-fact. The way he says, 'Amazing,' as though he's commenting on the weather. From anyone else, Sherlock would have accepted it as a defence mechanism. From John, it feels real.

The way he moves - once Sherlock could persuade him to forget that useless psychological prop of a cane. That proved easier than expected; it seems that all John needed was the right excuse. Without it, John's moves can hardly be said to be graceful, but he is all economy. He holds himself still unless it is necessary for him to move, something that Sherlock, all nervous, vibrating energy, finds impossible to grasp. At the times of greatest stress, it almost seems as though John will never move again.

He knows there is more to be discovered, and that draws him - but there's a variable he hadn't anticipated. At night, with his eyes burning, his mind racing and body twitching, he has no choice but to face the fact that John is becoming _necessary_ to him. 

All of it adds up to an equation that Sherlock can't solve. And while, under any other circumstances, a mystery that actually challenged him would be a cause for exhilaration, this time he is afraid.

So he bullies and pushes and challenges John. He orders John to attend on him, then abandons him in the middle of London's streets. He shows some of his cruellest behaviour, watching for John's reactions.

And in the middle of the night, his restlessness pulls him out of bed and sets him roaming aimlessly about the flat until he finds he's standing outside John's bedroom door with his fingertips barely grazing the wooden surface.

Listening to how the slow breathing of the man inside the room suddenly quickens, then becomes silent. Watchful.

High-functioning sociopath. Man without feelings. Man with no regard for anyone, or anything, but his own purposes.

He wears it like armour.


End file.
